


A Wedding in the Mix

by Brekah



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-04-15 12:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4607298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brekah/pseuds/Brekah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lady Montilyet has a wedding to pull off whether it's possible or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 800 Chairs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DancingMantis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingMantis/gifts).



> I've been writing a wedding fic since 1) I'm getting married soon lawls and 2) my current Fenris arc is SO FRIGGEN SAD TO WRITE at the moment BLURGH. So yay, wacky times! 
> 
> Thanks to DancingMantis who encouraged me to keep writing this silly thing~

Mercifully, Josephine had not taken a sip of her evening wine before hearing the news. “He wants _what?_ ”

“Eight-hundred place settings, Ambassador.”

“By _when?_ ”

“Four weeks hence.”

Josephine placed her palms flat on her desk and practiced a few of the breathing exercises she had learned as a girl in order to better survive growing up with her sister. “And where, precisely, does he expect these eight-hundred places to be set?”

Karine coughed and pressed her hands together. “Lord Dorian said that if you asked this question I was to assure you of his belief that you are as clever as you are lovely. I am also to assure you that if this belief proves false he has the contact information for no less than five very capable planners to be fetched from Orlais.”

Even breaths, so deep that they made her ears ring. “And what did the Inquisitor have to say to this?”

“I don't know, Ambassador. Lord Dorian said I wasn't to bother the Inquisitor with 'matters above the poor dear's comprehension.'”

Josephine let her breath out in a woosh. “Bring the Inquisitor to me right now. I don't care if—just bring him to me, yes?”

“But, my lady Ambassador—”

“Quickly.”

“As you wish, my lady.”

“Now.”

The door closed and Josephine briefly considered the merits of upending the stack of papers on her desk. Eight hundred place settings in four weeks time—how were the invitations to get out in time? How were the people to be accommodated? How were they to be  _fed_ ? Then there was the matter of music and drink and Maker, the ceremony itself! Josephine had trusted that the Inquisitor would settle for a small ceremony, but if it had already gotten this out of hand—

“It's fine,” she said to the room, giving her paperwork a reassuring glance. “It's just an impossible request made by an impossible person. No need to take it seriously. No need to panic. No need to worry. Everything will be fine. Everyone will see reason.”

Inquisitor Trevelyan strode into the room, beaming. He was always smiling these days, it seemed. They all were, Josephine supposed, now that the immediate threat of death had been traded in for the more gradual establishment of normalcy. “Josephine! What did you do to Karine? She's down right panicked.” He tumbled himself into a chair. “Dragged me out of my rooms like I was about to meet a tutor's switch.”

Josephine narrowed her eyes. “Inquisitor. We need to talk about the wed—”

Trevelyan bounced up. “Well, it was lovely chatting with you. Perhaps we can properly catch up in, oh, a month's time.”

Josephine jumped from her chair, scraping it back in her haste. “Inquisitor, please! You're the one who started this mess. Rein him in!”

Trevelyan gaped at her. “What do you mean  _I_ started it?”

“You proposed!”

“Yes I did. And we were all aware of the way Dorian is long before I asked him to commit to anything.”

Josephine leaned over her desk, once again pressing her palms upon its surface. She truly cared for Trevelyan—a sentiment far beyond whatever belief she might have in him as Herald or Inquisitor. He understood her just by having a similar background; their friendship was easy and non-explanatory. She could be herself around him—he was someone to lose time with. “He'll listen to you. Tell him that you are made uncomfortable by his impossible demands.”

Trevelyan blinked. “Josephine, this morning we got into a three hour shouting match over the fact that I think Sera looks lovely in red.”

Josephine dismissed this with a wave of her hand. “You two are always fighting.”

“'If she shows up in red I will burn everything down to the ground and raise the souls of villains a thousand years dead,' he said.”

“He won't actually.”

Trevelyan crossed his arms. “When I mentioned this to Sera she said that if she doesn't get to wear red she'll 'unleash a buzzing blight on all you poncy stiffs and laugh when the shoutin' starts.'”

The fingers Josephine pressed against her head did little to alleviate the blossoming headache. “Well, Sera doesn't really care about her own fashion, surely—”

“Of course she said this within earshot of Cassandra, who is now heartbroken that I overlooked her and asked Sera to be my standard bearer, so I had to spend another hour patching that up—”

“I still don't understand why you need a standard bearer at all—”

“Have you met my mother?”

“Well yes, actually, and—”

Trevelyan raised his eyebrows. “Then you know that the only thing she is more devoted to than her family and the Chantry is the history of Ostwick's nobility. Some Great-Great-Great Grandmother Who Knows Who Trevelyan had a standard bearer at her wedding and now so must I.”

“And if you don't?”

“My mother will duly remind me of it for the rest of my life as will all my siblings, each of whom were forced to have standard bearers at _their_ weddings. Maker, I get enough grief from my cousins for 'only joining the Chantry on a technicality.' I can only imagine the tirades over-looking the standard bearer would lead to.”

Josephine shook her head. “Fine, we'll sort the standard bearing dilemma in a moment. First, I do need your help, Inquisitor. Dorian wants no less that eight-hundred attendees at this wedding. Surely you understand why this distresses me.”

Trevelyan quirked an eyebrow. “More, actually. He only wants eight-hundred for the ceremony and the banquet. The ball afterward will likely reach a thousand.”

Josephine dropped into her chair. “The...I...just...what?”

“Oh yes. He is determined to invite everyone from Tevinter that he is close to, especially the ones of a sort his parents will object to. Then there is the fact that he is so widely traveled and has so many friends—ah, and of course, my own family which, as you know, is sizable in its own right. You're partially to blame as well, what with our families being so close; they are sure to receive invitations. Then there are the political invitations—”

Josephine tried to revisit her breathing exercises but all that came out was an indignant huff. “With all due respect, Inquisitor, I am quite well versed in the etiquette of inviting people to an event. What I don't know is where we can possibly have so many. I simply do not think Skyhold is large enough—or employs enough staff, regardless of the space it may provide. I think you may need to hold this event elsewhere. In Orlais, perhaps. It would certainly be an easier journey for the attendees.”

Trevelyan traced the green mark in his hand. Josephine glanced at it; it glowed with its usual regularity. It was the one thing to resist the return to normal after all they had been through—that and the voices in the Inquisitor's head, courtesy of the Well of Sorrows.

“Elsewhere is...elsewhere. There are biases to contend with elsewhere, regarding any number of things. My standing with the Chantry, perhaps. Dorian being a Tevinter mage, certainly. Scandal, of course, regarding the fact that we are two nobles who have not born children yet are forging forth with our own desires. That we dare flaunt this.” Trevelyan looked up and gave a shrug. “I say Blight take the rumors and gossip but Dorian's ears are always to the ground. These things wound him, Josephine.”

Opportunist, bloodsucker, mind bender and Tevinter spy—there were plenty of rumors circling around the young mage engaged to their Inquisitor. Josephine knew them all too well. “I understand, I truly do. This does not, however, change what we are and are not capable of within our own holdings.”

Trevelyan eased down into his chair. “He helped me save Thedas—he was right there, right next to me the whole time—but there is nothing in existence that would see what we have as valid. There is no 'elsewhere' for this to take place, Josephine. I want it here, on my terms. I want to establish this with full authority. My love for him deserves that much.  _His_ love for  _me_ deserves even more—I think of everything he is giving up for this and I just...I want to make sure all of Thedas knows it's legitimate. I want it to have weight.”

Josephine pressed her head against the back of her chair, regarding her abandoned glass of wine. “I somehow knew that you would talk me down, yet I called you in here anyway.”

Trevelyan smiled and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “You wanted to be talked down. Admit it, you're ecstatic to throw something so huge and ridiculous. Dorian may have a penchant for over the top parties, but you're no better.”

Josephine managed to keep the grin from her face. It would indeed be huge and ridiculous—and memorable, if pulled off right. An event of such momentous stature as to challenge anything short of the scandalous ball thrown by Grand Duchess Florianne. All for the happiness of those close to her—Josephine sighed, raising her shoulders in mock defeat. “Hardly. Have you contacted Leliana? You promised, you'll recall.”

“Yes, Divine Victoria has vowed to clear her schedule and head the ceremony herself. Dorian is beyond pleased. He thinks it will send his parents into actual fits.”

The grin blossomed despite her best efforts. “I'll make sure to have a few healers nearby.”


	2. Mother Dear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josephine has gotten rather good at confronting Dorian, but what of Dorian's mother?

The main hall was alive with the noise of redecoration. A grand war was being fought between those set to build and those set to clean, with many an innocent falling pray to a harsh reprimand.

Dorian, it seemed, was not subject to such abuse, standing tall and proud as others scurried around him. Josephine could only assume that she held a similar status, though she did note a quite reprehensible glance from a sweeper when she crossed his freshly swept patch of floor.

Josephine turned to the next sheet on her board. “Magister Tilani should be arriving within the week, Lord Dorian. She assured me in her letter that she disseminated the invitations as you asked and finds your idea of seating her next to your parents, I quote, 'beyond delicious.'”

Dorian chuckled, though he did not turn from staring up at the wall by which Josephine had found him. “I do miss Mae. It will be good to see her. We'll be visiting her in Tevinter, you know. She has such a lovely estate.”

Josephine turned to another page. “Yes, I'm sure. On the topic of attendees, we are already being flooded with acceptances. I do hope you have a thought towards where we are to house all of these individuals.”

Dorian nodded seriously and pointed at the wall. “He really does have the worst taste in tapestries, doesn't he? This fascination of his with Ferelden browns...where in Thedas did he get such taste?”

“Lord Dorian? The attendees?”

“Surely not from his father. Now _there_ is a man who can spot a good tapestry. In fact, you, yes, the one staring at me. Go fetch Bann Trevelyan and bring him here. We've got two weeks and express trade with Orlais. We can salvage this.”

Josephine watched the terrified servant as he ran from the room. She blinked as she realized that it wasn't a servant after all, but a minor noble from Lydes. “Lord Dorian, I really must insist that we talk about accommodations.”

“And I really must insist that we talk about why you blocked my last requested shipment. Here, follow me.”

Josephine gripped the sides of her writing board and followed the mage. She tore herself from glaring at the back of his head to spare a glance at the tapestries in question; they truly were quite dismal. She made a note to have someone look in Skyhold's storage rooms. Two weeks was much too short an amount of time; perhaps there was something useful from the gifts that had been pouring in.

Dorian had a similar verdict for the tall Free Marcher statues lining the walk through the hall. “Honestly I would decorate this place myself if I had the time. You'd think that closing a giant hole in the sky a few times would open up an afternoon or two but alas, no rest for the wicked.” Dorian swept open the door to his and the Inquisitor's private quarters, going so far as to bow slightly as he gestured for Josephine to enter. She shook her head in frustration as she passed him, eyes already moving over the quarters' entry hall.

Ending Corypheus had provided enough free time to clean up the rest of rubble and tighten the floors. The walls had been washed and covered with some truly beautiful tapestries from coastal Tevinter. Elaborate sconces held thick candles, giving the small hall a warm glow despite the fading evening light. Dorian murmured something about filthy windows and brushed past Josephine to hold open the second door.

Josephine barely recognized the room she entered. Sconces with the same thick candles paired with the fireplace to light the room bright enough that Josephine could easily read her notes. The faded Chantry rugs had been replaced with thick red carpets, dark as Antivan wine. The same color trimmed the black drapes covering each window, glinting with golden thread as they moved heavily with the frigid breeze. Two deep set chairs sat in front of the fireplace, a finely carved stone table between them. The desk had been upgraded into a vast, imposing surface and the modest bookcases in the corner had been replaced with shining wooden shelves stretching to a height well above the windows. They were stuffed full of books, but that did little to alleviate the books strewn about the already cluttered desk, the ladder used to reach the shelves' heights, the chairs and table, the floor, and even the bed—which, Josephine noticed, was at least the same bed that she had seen Trevelyan pick out on one of their trips to Orlais, a large four-post frame of Free Marcher design well swathed in curtains. Josephine smiled; she had a similar monstrosity in her own room, her main line of defense against Skyhold's mountain breezes.

The other surviving piece of furniture, Josephine noticed, was the white couch pushed against the banister. Josephine nearly gasped as her eyes fell upon it; it was occupied by a spectacularly beautiful woman paging lazily through a book. The woman's hair was separated into fine braids which formed careful loops upon the crown of her head before cascading freely down her back; her dark skin glowed against the golden fabric of her gown, the thick wool made less rustic by patterned lines of shimmering white satin. Her eyes were lined with careful strokes of kohl, tracing faintly from the corners of her eyes into her hairline.

Josephine gave an appropriate curtsy and forced the shock from her face. “Madame Pavus, please excuse my rudeness.”

Dorian's mother placed her book down and inclined her head. “Ambassador Montilyet. There is nothing to excuse. I am sure my son has you well distracted with his foolishness.”

Dorian rummaged through the desk. “Lovely to have your support as always, Mother. As you can see, Lady Ambassador, this is why our Inquisitor has been in hiding for the better part of the day. Mother has been lurking around me since breakfast.”

“I do not lurk, Dorian. And there is no fault to be found in a mother wanting to spend time with her son.”

“Whoever is the habit of assigning fault needs to look harder, then—ah—here.” He thrust a paper towards Josephine. “Read this and tell me just what you find so disagreeable to your very senses that you had to turn the shipment away.”

Josephine skimmed over the shipping manifest. “My Lord Dorian, there are no less than four hundred volumes on this list.”

“A humble count, yes.”

“Yes. Just where is this 'humble count' going to reside?”

Dorian looked at her as though she were well lost at sea. “Why, the library of course.”

“Of course. On which shelves?”

“The empty ones.”

“And those are where, exactly?”

Dorian threw up his hands. “They are under the dross that currently makes up the majority of the library's holdings. Give me one afternoon and I'll have things well sorted out.”

“Fine, that is perfectly acceptable. I'll notify the merchant that he can redeliver the volumes the week after the ceremony. Once things have calmed down you can organize them as you wish.”

Dorian's eyebrows went up. “Well, that won't do at all.”

“It won't?”

“No. I need those volumes _for_ the ceremony. What will people say if they see the library in its current state? Do you wish the Inquisition to become the laughingstock of Thedas?”

Josephine carefully handed Dorian the shipping manifest, somehow overcoming her need to ball it up and throw it at his head. “Our library is one of the best stocked libraries in all of—”

“Southern Thedas, yes. That is exactly my point. I need to bring the library up to proper standards lest our mighty Inquisitor become known as my illiterate consort.”

Josephine took a breath and opened her mouth to tell Dorian that no, absolutely not, and for that matter she would leave the task of finding guest accommodations in his hands as well—but Madame Pavus was speaking.

“Well, at least you still have sense about a few things.”

Dorian stared at Josephine for a moment before turning to his mother. “Oh? Is that so?”

“Of course.” Madame Pavus gently gestured towards the rest of the keep. “The state of the library is only the least of it. The decoration of the main hall, the repairs still to be made to the stonework—sweet Maker, the _wine_. It's all horrible.”

“Is it?” Dorian crossed his arms and looked at Josephine. “It sounds as though she is agreeing with me. Don't fall for it, Lady Montilyet. It's a trap, sure as anything.”

“Don't be so dramatic, Dorian. It's unbecoming.”

“Dramatic? Hah! This from the woman who hosted a grand ball simply to snub a former friend though the lack of an invitation!” Dorian quirked a smile in Josephine's direction. “Cost a fortune, if I recall, but it was a most exquisite time. Lady Andrene had never been so insulted. She had her husband challenge my father to a duel. I hear she's still in mourning.”

Madame Pavus smiled at the memory, her expression mirroring her son's. “Of course it was exquisite. It was well thought out, well orchestrated. I planned it for months—I knew every last detail, right down to the level of drink in each glass. This, however, is madness. Surely I've raised you better than this.”

Dorian waved his hand around the room. “I'm doing what I can when I can, Mother. I have actual work to do.”

“Then why do this now? Why not give yourself some time for the idea to rest?”

“There it is.” Dorian moved to the desk and brushed his hand over the books. “I was wondering when you would bring this up. Even for a woman so concerned with propriety you've always preferred an audience.”

Josephine shook her head, feeling as though she were breaking out of a trance. “I'll take my—”

“No! Stay! Give us the audience that my mother desires.” Dorian turned to face them, crossing his arms once more as he leaned against the desk. “So, Mother Dear, let's have it. I've had this talk once already. I am practiced now, you see.”

Madame Pavus folded her hands in her lap. “I simply do not believe that you have thought this through.”

“Oh? And to which part of “this” are you referring?”

Josephine ran through all of the gracious exits she could think of, finally settling on one that would do best. “I apologize, but I must—”

Madame Pavus held up a hand and Josephine snapped her mouth closed, muttering an apology even as she took insult.

“Dorian, I am tired of fighting you. You were always such a brilliant and beautiful boy. You're more than any mother could ever hope for.”

Dorian flicked his eyes back to Josephine. “Maker, this is going to be worse than I thought.”

“That does not change the fact,” Madame Pavus continued, holding up her hand anew, “that you rarely think things through. You are rash and irrational in the best of times. You give those you love no time to react to your requests and you give them even less room in which to maneuver. How can anyone please you when your expectations are so high?” Madame Pavus gestured to Josephine. “How can you expect the Ambassador to the Inquisition to meet your every demand? You say you have actual work to do—what of Ambassador Montilyet? What of the people now scurrying at your every word? Such panicked activity is the result of a poorly thought out fancy, Dorian. You haven't taken realistic restrictions into consideration. I cannot sit here and watch you continue on in such a sloppy manner.”

Dorian still had his eyes on Josephine's. She watched as they grew hard, pinching slightly at the corners. He smiled and looked to his mother. “What a good speech, Mother. If I were completely unaware of the situation I might even miss the metaphor.”

“You assume too much. I simply want to assist you.”

“Oh, my mistake, Mother. And what a good mother you are, going out of your way to support your son in even the most outrageous of undertakings. How _big_ of you, Mother.”

Madame Pavus sighed, the corners of her eyes tightening very much like her son's. Josephine felt a momentary panic—two Dorians. Who could possibly handle two raging Dorians? “I just hate to watch you embarrass yourself, Dorian.”

“I'll do my best to save face.”

“I don't possibly see how.” Madame Pavus turned to Josephine. “You must understand, Ambassador, that this ceremony will never be recognized in Tevinter. It is much too sudden, too foreign. Dorian's father and I had hoped that by coming to Skyhold together we could make Dorian see how foolish this haste is. Something this precipitous would be seen as a false display, you must understand, a grand tantrum.”

Dorian turned back to Josephine. “My mother knows a great deal about false displays, you see. She and my father have been a false display since the day they met.”

Madame Pavus stood, the folds of her gown falling in such a way as to make Josephine feel graceless. “A display is only false when it does not result in its intended purpose. Our intended purpose was you—and here you are, making a fool out of all of us yet again.”

Dorian laughed, a single syllable launching him into the full volume of his voice. “Yes Mother, _I_ am the one making a fool of _you._ _I_ am the one making _your_ life difficult. The ungrateful son with no mind for his family. How fucking selfish of me.”

“Your sarcasm does little to alleviate the truth of your words, Dorian. You have never _once_ given your family even the basest consideration when you've a mind to do something. You've never _once_ considered the things that your father had to sacrifice to clean up your messes, or the the loops I've had to jump through to make sure that your name continued to hold even the smallest amount of dignity. Even now you act hastily, threatening to bring shame upon us once again.”

Dorian lunged a step forward. “Yes, the shame of my Southern _, foreign_ wedding.”

Madame Pavus kept her hands folded in front of her, back straight and precise. “The entire purpose of the years I have spent married to that man has been to raise you into something suitable of becoming our heir, to see you rise to heights that Halward could never reach. That you would so cavalierly throw my own life away on such an impulse as this only demonstrates the lack of your love for me.”

Dorian clapped, the sound nearly making Josephine gasp. “Ah! Yes! Let's talk about the lack of love in this family! We'll let the mother who allowed a blood magic ritual—”

The precision drained from Madame Pavus's features; she made her own lunge forward, the motion a perfect mirror of her son's. “I _never_ knew about that! Never! I would never let him do such a thing!”

“And yet it would have been so convenient for you, wouldn't it have? No risk of a _foreign_ wedding then, is there Mother? No need to question what is happening behind my closed doors? Better to just force me into what you—”

Josephine did gasp at the crack of Madame Pavus's hand across Dorian's face. “You _dare_ compare me to _him_.”

Words bubbled into Josephine's throat but she could not find the sound for them. She longed to at least move next to Dorian, to support him with closeness, but the indecency of such an action—

Madame Pavus turned to Josephine. “Please excuse me—and excuse this distasteful display. My son is rather heartless. It is hard for a mother to bear.”

Josephine watched as the woman stormed down the stairs; it took all of Josephine's will not to jump at the slamming of the door. Silence settled over the room, save for the crackling of the fire.

Josephine cleared her throat. “Lord Dorian—Dorian? I am sorry, I did not know what to say.”

Dorian snapped his eyes to her, the eye closest to the slap brimming with tears. “Hah! Yes, there is never anything so awkward as family interaction. Unfortunate to be a stranger caught in the middle. I always thought that was the hilarity of marriage, in a way. Forcing another person to become part of a great dysfunction.”

Josephine stood in silence as Dorian picked a glass from a stack of books and drained its contents. He shook his head. “I never thought they would attend, you know. I invited them as something of a joke—a joke at _their_ expense. I never expected them to come, not here, not for this. Never.”

“Perhaps even under all of their harshness they truly wish to see their son happily wed to the person he loves.”

Dorian shook his head once more and tried what Josephine could only guess to be a laugh; it came out more a bark than anything else. “Yesterday my father told me that I have his pride and my mother's passion. He said that my happiness was all _well and good_ but I needed to be aware of my traits and the fact that I am going through the elaborate motion of making a belabored point. That right there is how he views this entire situation— _a belabored point_.”

“Lord Dorian—”

Dorian shook his head, staring into the fire. “It's nonsense. All of it. Hateful nonsense.”

Josephine extinguished her candle and set down her board. “I see. Well. I'll have a glass of something as well, since you have been so kind to offer, my lord.”

Dorian snorted and rummaged among the warren of books on the desk. Josephine moved towards one of the chairs, carefully removed the stack of books—she had toppled one of Dorian's stacks long before the fall of Corypheus and could _still_ hear the vitriolic reaction—and let herself sink into the leather. It truly was a beautiful chair.

Dorian sat in the other chair, somehow placing a decanter of brandy and two glasses on the stone table while relocating a stack of books into his lap, all with more grace than was appropriate for any person to have.

Josephine smiled as Dorian poured the brandy and offered it to her. It swirled in her glass; a beautiful color. “Let me begin by saying that your mother is terribly beautiful. You look just like her.”

Dorian laughed, nearly upending brandy all over the books in his lap. “My sweet Ambassador, if this is an attempt to steal me from my husband to be—”

Josephine held up a hand, sending Dorian down another spiral of laughter. “She is, however—and I say this with the appropriate amount of respect—perhaps the most perfect embodiment of your worst traits that I have ever seen.”

Dorian held up his glass. “Ah, sweet and beautiful Mother. There are songs about her, you know. About her beauty and intelligence, her grace and acumen.” Dorian took a sip of his brandy. “There are also a few songs to frighten misbehaving children. Those are my favorite.”

“No! You _must_ sing me one!”

Dorian held a book up to his chest. “Never while her feet grace the same land as mine. She has an incredible way of hearing me when I least want her to. I'm still convinced it's blood magic—or a pact with a demon, at the very least.”

“No, that's just mothers.” Josephine took a sip of the brandy, relishing the liquor as it burned the sides of her tongue and warmed her throat. “Mine has the same skill.”

“Frightful.” Dorian turned through the first few pages of the book, a small smile coming to his lips. “Tell me, dear lady, do you and your mother get on well? You and both of your parents, I suppose, and siblings and the lot.”

Josephine briefly allowed herself to touch the miasma of love, stress, annoyance, duty, and determination that was her devotion to her family. “Yes, aside from the usual family squabbles, I suppose. It is hard to...manage the weight of their expectation, at times, but I think that is a common trait among families of our stature. I have, however, never doubted their love for me, nor they mine.”

“Ugh, how banal.” Dorian pulled up a second book and lifted its cover. “His family is just as awful as yours, you know. Our Inquisitor, that is—when he introduced me to his father the man actually embraced me. He told me, “I have always wanted another son.” Must have been horribly embarrassing for his other sons-in-law, poor cretins. And his mother—she _cried._ Told me I was everything she could have hoped for. I am still trying to decide whether she was crying with happiness or simply coming to terms with me as consolation. ”

Josephine smiled into the fire. Trevelyan's easy nature was well explained by the presence of his family. As the youngest of five the only expectation seemingly placed upon him was to be loved and encouraged by all those around him before one day turning to serve the Maker. “The Trevelyans are quite fond of the Herald, it is true.”

“Each sibling looks at him like they share some hilarious yet heart-wrenching secret.”

“That's simply how siblings work, my lord.”

“Disgusting.” Dorian snapped the book closed. “And the _cousins._ How much must that family breed? Every other person I am introduced to is a _cousin._ I've memorized the line as comprehensively as I can, but there is simply not enough parchment in the world to map out each Trevelyan cousin. If a Trevelyan must breathe for the world to turn then we are well taken care of.”

Josephine frowned at that. She still wasn't sure that each “cousin” was telling true. “Yes, there does seem to be a rather inordinate amount of them.”

“I suppose marrying into such a loud, awful, _expressive_ family is my curse. The holidays will be monstrous. I do hope Corypheus rends free from the clutches of death, just to give us an excuse to stay away.”

“I'll see if I can send him a message."

"Please do. We really should collect debt from him. The costs of spent enchantments alone could purchase us a second keep."

"Unfortunately his estate is in poor order. Not a coin left."

"Ah yes, a sure sign of those made powerful too quickly. A newly minted idiot, as my mother would say." He grasped the decanter. "Another, my lady?"

Josephine shook her head and stood. "Perhaps another night. Until then, I should get back to my work.”

Dorian rose to his feet, pouting slightly. “Only one glass of brandy? Have I insulted you so greatly?”

“No, my Lord Dorian, if anything you have esteemed me so highly that I must drive myself to meet your expectations.”

“Of course. We can't have my mother be faced with shame, now can we?”

Josephine reclaimed her writing board and lit the candle against a glowing sconce. “Clearly.” She turned to the stairs and took a deep breath. “For what it is worth, I truly think your parents love you.”

Dorian's smirk twisted into his voice. “Oh, I know my mother loves me. It's been a problem for quite some time now.”

“What's more, I truly think that their expectations are none of your concern. It may be true that they helped shape you into the man that you are today, but the brunt of the work was your own. You and the Inquisitor complement each other in a way that few couples can achieve. It is a match to believe in.” Josephine huffed out a breath and smiled towards Dorian. “It is why I am about to go chastise a young woman for suggesting a summer cheese be served with the Antivan red.”

“She didn't!”

“She did. Have a good night, my lord. Do not forget that you sent a summons to Bann Trevelyan, though I suspect your messenger has become rather lost.”

She heard him move as she began down the steps, though she thought little of it until his hand fell on her shoulder.

“Josephine, all joviality aside, if you truly cannot handle—”

Josephine patted his hand and continued down the stairs. “I shall leave before you insult me by suggesting there exists an event that I cannot plan. This wedding shall be so perfectly executed that you shall be moved to tears.”

“Hah! As though you'd ever know!”

Her pen scratched against parchment, already putting her thoughts to record. “I have brandy with the Inquisitor as well, you know. Now if there isn't anything else—”

“Goodnight, dear lady! And don't forget to correct the shipping error regarding my books!”

Josephine closed the door behind her. She'd just finished penning the matter of the books to her task list, right after noting that the grand tents used on Orlesian feast days would make excellent accommodations for the brimming guests. The tents were both rustic and refined, like Skyhold itself. A simple enough problem to solve—after all, it wasn't as though she were an amateur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have always wondered what Dorian's mother would be like. I imagine Dorian as a combination of his father's pride and his mother's...well, pride. (I imagine them to be a very prideful family.) Going from Halward's comparative calm during Dorian's quest I can't help but imagine that Dorian gets his passion (and love of drama) from his mother as well. I see her as a version of Dorian without his compassion; a woman always ::sure:: that she is right even when she knows that she is wrong. Dorian is the embodiment of everything she was raised to achieve. He is the beautiful result of a loathed marriage, a brilliant and ambitious young man aimed towards greatness. She feels great (yet oddly precise) violence towards anyone who would wish him harm or see him stray from his destiny. She is, therefore, still trying to understand how to treat her son since he boldly rejected the well planned path laid out for him. She has about as much grace in this area as a bull in a museum, but I can't imagine her signing on with a magical ritual to change the very fabric of her son's mind. In fact I bet that was kept secret even from her, lest there actually be blood. 
> 
> I would be terrified to meet her, basically.


	3. New Hat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In five days time the two would be wed by the Divine herself, Blight take anyone who disapproved.

“Please, Dorian.”

The Inquisitor's voice trailed down the stairs as Josephine pulled open the door to his quarters. A swirl of fresh air welcomed her, and the bright daylight coming through the windows made Josephine squint her eyes.

“It is sweet of you to worry but I assure you: I am having a wonderful time organizing this event. This _is_ fun for me.”

“Dorian, yesterday one of my soldiers saw you jump into a closet in order to avoid the approach of your parents.” Cullen came into full view as Josephine rose up the stairs, his hands resting on the hilt of his sword as he stood in a patch of sun. “You can't possibly claim that you find _that_ fun.”

Dorian was crouched on the floor, surrounded by what Josephine could only assume was a large percentage of their newest volumes. He brandished one of the volumes at Cullen. “That was a mere joke, nothing more. A perfectly happy jaunt. A caper.”

Trevelyan straightened and stepped his way over a few piles of books before setting a volume upon a stack. “This morning you shouted at Bull for being 'too short.'” Trevelyan glanced at Cullen. “He said that if Bull was taller he could 'see the parental scourge coming.'”

Dorian gave an indignant cough. “Well it _is_ true. And that volume doesn't go there. Hand it to me before you destroy my entire system.”

Cullen glanced at Josephine, a look she returned. Hopeless, the lot of them.“Dorian.” Cullen took a few steps forward and crouched across from the mage. “Let's have a game of chess. I truly think you need to relax, just for an hour or two.”

Dorian blinked, a short stack of books balancing precariously on his knee. “ _You_? _You_ think _I_ need to relax?” Cullen nodded. Dorian turned to Trevelyan, launching the books from his lap. “And you! How could you let it get so bad that the _templar_ thinks I need to relax?”

Trevelyan held out his palms. “A great failing, it seems. Come, Dorian. It's for the best and you know it.” He held a hand out to Dorian; the mage righted the stack of books before taking the hand and pulling himself to his feet. He moved around the stacks without looking at them, even taking a moment to place a volume here or there as he moved across the room.

“One hour should be enough to destroy you sufficiently, Cullen.”

Cullen stood, grinning triumphantly at Josephine. “I wouldn't get too cocky, Dorian. You only won the last match on a technicality.”

Dorian snorted and winked at Josephine. “Cocky? You don't know the half of it.” He turned back to Trevelyan and frowned. “Remember that you promised to fix that thing on top of your head by this afternoon.”

“Yes, I'll get the damn haircut. I remember.”

“I certainly hope you remember. I'll be back in an hour.” Dorian quirked an eyebrow at Cullen. “Perhaps within an hour, if history serves.”

“My pawns will be dancing on your queen's grave before you know it, Dorian.”

“Excellent—all the more of a challenge, then.”

Josephine moved aside to let them pass. The room settled into silence as the door closed off Cullen's retort.

“Maker!” Trevelyan moved to the couch and dropped onto it, scooping up a few books in the process. “I've been trying to make him take a break for days and it only takes Cullen twenty minutes. I swear, since Varric left Cullen is the only one Dorian will listen to.”

Josephine smiled to herself as she cleared a few books from the couch to make her own seat. Just the other day Cullen had delivered a rant elucidating all the ways in which Dorian only listened to their Inquisitor. “Dorian is excited.”

“To say the least.” Trevelyan leaned his head against the back of the couch and shut his eyes. “Tell me, Josephine. You've met Madame Pavus, yes? Or Lady Thalrassian, as she insists I call her.”

Josephine instinctively corrected her posture. “I've had the, er, pleasure, yes.”

“Hah! Then you'll understand. She tracked me down yesterday. Demanded I speak with her in private only to stare at me in perfect silence for what felt like an eternity. I swear, I've never had anyone look at me like that, and that's including Dorian at his most annoyed.” Trevelyan opened his eyes and raised his eyebrows. “She asked me what my intentions are with her son.”

A book slid off of a stack; Josephine righted it before it could upend another. “Does the wedding not make your intentions clear?”

Trevelyan sighed. “Apparently not. 'I am not letting my son waste himself on a triviality. You can love him well enough without the display, but making the display means that you're committed to something more than a fleeting emotion.' How did she put it—ah, yes.” Trevelyan sat up straight, leveling a stony gaze upon Josephine. “'If you marry my son you are making the same vow that I made some years ago. You will work towards his success. You will protect him from harm. You will see that his legacy, whatever that is, lasts beyond anything attached to your own name.'” Trevelyan jerked up a finger, making Josephine jump. “'You may have impressed others with your Inquisition, Lord Trevelyan, but you would be nothing without my son. I hope you understand that.'”

Josephine shook her head, releasing a small shudder through her spine. “I cannot decide whether I despise that woman or admire her.”

Trevelyan shrugged and leaned back against the couch. “You can do two things.”

“So what did you tell her?”

“Do you know the biggest fight that Dorian and I have ever had?”

Josephine sat back, fingers tapping on her writing board. “I can't tell the fighting from the wooing with you two.”

Trevelyan smiled. “I did something for which he still hasn't forgiven me—and yes, you don't need to give me that look. It was the Well. Maker help me whenever I bring it up. I do not regret my choice, but I regret the effect it had on those I care for. Many lost their trust in me.” Trevelyan sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “But I almost lost Dorian entirely. We both understand that there are things greater than the feelings we have for each other, but to be reminded of that, to have that so blatantly demonstrated before him...it was the closest he came to wanting to go immediately, to flee before he was irrevocably tied to me.”

“What did you do?”

“I had always known I needed Dorian's help and preferred his company—that was obvious enough. But to suddenly be faced with losing him, with losing all of it, his love and his insight, his ability and the vast amount of knowledge just waiting within his mind?” Trevelyan shrugged, palms dropping in a helpless gesture. “That was the first time I truly realized how much I relied on him, what an inexorable part of me he'd become. He wasn't yet irrevocably tied to me, but I was to him.” A book slid from the couch and Trevelyan bent to pick it up. “I told him that, and he stayed. I told his mother the same thing, and she said she would think upon it.”

“I see.” The woman would have to understand. Or not, Josephine thought with a sizable amount of satisfaction. In five days time the two would be wed by the Divine herself, Blight take anyone who disapproved.

Josephine cleared her throat, ushering away such gleefully vindictive thoughts. “Well, at least you survived the encounter.”

Trevelyan snorted, closing his eyes once more. “So far.”

Josephine placed a few more books onto the floor and did a proper survey of the room. There were, of course, more books than floor space. The thick curtains were open to sheer sheets which floated on the breeze and caught the sunlight, giving the room an entirely different feel from her evening visit a week before. “I don't believe I ever mentioned how lovely you've made your quarters, even cluttered as they are at the moment.”

Trevelyan smiled the smile he only ever had for the Tevinter mage. “Yes, I'm quite fond of it. It was all Dorian, of course, save for a few things. He is incredible, isn't he?”

“He has a certain charm.” Josephine shook her head. “Who knows what would happen if he actually started taking things seriously.”

Trevelyan opened his eyes. “Half the time I wish he would take things _less_ seriously. He seems damned determined to solve the greater problems of Tevinter himself, or go mad trying.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and turning to give her a bashful smile. “But we don't need to launch into that. I know you're here for some reason that is going to torture me and send me into fits of stress and woe. Let's have it.”

Josephine took in a deep breath, relished the feeling of sunlight on her skin, and set to. “All good news, I hope. I have managed to find accommodation for all the guests in addition to setting up suitable seating arrangements around the grounds for the banquet. Currently we have enough food and drink to serve several courses and then some, the majority of which have been gifted to us from hundreds of grateful souls throughout Thedas. I have organized the cooks and approved the menus they have drawn up. I've also made a seating chart that should not only respect culture, rank, and status but also see certain parties made properly uncomfortable.”

“You're incredible, Josephine.”

Josephine inclined her head. “As for the ball, I have deemed it best to have different players stationed at appropriate locations throughout the grounds. There is no way we can fit everyone in one location, so I thought it might be a good choice to provide areas with different music, each representing the cultures of the bulk of the attendees. Guests can visit different corners of Thedas throughout the evening by walking the grounds. Ferelden jigs in the lower courtyard, Orlesian quadrille in the main hall. The upper courtyard will hold a new style of Tevinter dance that I have been instructed not to tell you about.”

Trevelyan smiled. “Dorian says he wants to see the look on my face when I see the dance for the first time.”

“Of course.” Josephine had already seen the dance performed; it required a pair of dancers and was quite risque, to say the least. The Iron Bull, who had insisted on joining her to view the musicians and dancers, had called it the most Tevinter thing he'd ever seen.

“I've also managed to get the cellars cleaned up, Inquisitor. Are you sure that your Free Marcher compatriots will be happy with such a space?”

“Did you write Varric?”

“I gave him full control of the music in the Free Marches area, yes.”

“Then they will be thrilled.” Trevelyan stood and cracked his back. “My people are a rowdy bunch. We'll have a wonderful time—and the less we can break the better.”

Josephine nodded. She had been to her fair share of Marcher soirees. The general sentiment seemed to be that one did not so much depart a Marcher ball as pass out in place on the floor. “Then that covers music.”

“Josephine, you are a candle in the dark. This entire establishment would fall on its head without you, and I would be married in muddy squalor.”

Josephine inclined her head once more. “It is merely my—”

The Inquisitor raised an eyebrow. “Josephine, come now.”

There was a knock at the door. Josephine stood and crossed her arms as Trevelyan made his way down the steps. “You are lucky to have me. You would be stranded somewhere in the Waking Sea were I not here, trying to barter for goats from a fisherman.”

“I'm not _that_ bad!”

“Let's not be too ambitious in our self-assessments.” She walked towards the open window and, after testing the temperature, stepped out onto the balcony. The sun warmed her, as did the breeze that was blowing from the inner grounds. It was moments like these, when the air was warm and her eyes closed against the snow, that she could resist the pull of metropolitan life and come to love Skyhold as a physical place a little more. She rested her hands on the banister, allowing for the possibility that she might come to miss the very walls of Skyhold when she returned to her duties in Antiva. When her eyes opened some of the sentiment faded with the sight of snow, though another warm breeze did its best to raise her spirits.

“Look who's come to show us his new hat.”

Josephine turned and beheld the largest hat she had ever seen. It was a determined hue of blue, with what could only be some sort of imitation griffon feather sprouting from the band and a brim that fell well past the wearer's shoulders. Somewhere under all of this stood Cole, who pushed the brim up to stare triumphantly.

“I found it for the wedding! Dorian will be so pleased!”

Josephine searched for words, any words. “He will certainly be surprised?”

“I hope so.” Cole took the hat off and gazed at it fondly. “It makes me think of summer nights and long evenings. Those are the things Dorian misses the most about home.”

This made Josephine feel suddenly sad, but so did most interactions she had with Cole. She cleared her throat and smiled. “It is good to see you. Varric wrote that the two of you would get here this morning—I am sorry I didn't meet you at the gate. How have you been?”

“I am happy. Varric is teaching me to help him with his work. I get to see all of Kirkwall.”

“Do you like it there?”

The young man looked to his feet. “It is very dirty. Most of the people are angry or scared. There is a captain of the guard that everyone looks to. She is the heart of the city, as well as its brain. Someone called her Champion once but she shouted them down. She said the true Champion still yet lived.” He looked up and gave her a surprised look. “I live in a mansion.”

Josephine glanced at Trevelyan; the Inquisitor was silent, looking out over the mountains. “Yes, Varric's brother's mansion. Varric wrote that you two had taken residence there after he was unable to maintain the sale.”

“Bartrand was irresponsible once, and now he cannot keep track of the voices,” Cole said plainly, snapping his eyes to Trevelyan and dropping his hat. “There's something wrong with the Inquisitor—”

Trevelyan was looking out over the mountains, lips locked in a grimace as he held his marked hand. He rocked on his feet, not falling but coming close enough to it that Josephine hurried over and placed a hand on his arm. “Inquisitor?”

The Inquisitor shook his head, turning a bleary smile in Josephine's direction. “My apologies, Josephine. Just a passing twinge.”

“Come back inside and sit down. Cole? Go get help. Calmly, now.”

Cole skittered towards the door, only to crash into a stack of books as Trevelyan called him back.

“No! No, Cole, I'm fine.” Trevelyan gestured them towards the couch, shaking his hand out as they reentered the room. “It's nothing worth worrying about.”

“Nonsense.” Josephine felt the tickle of a great fear trace its way across her skin; the fear that had no name, yet, but grew with each pulse of her Inquisitor's mark.

“Truly, Josephine. I'm as alright as I can be with unknown magic calling my body its home.” Trevelyan smiled at Josephine's frown. “I'm joking, Josephine. It's perfectly alright. Just like with the Well—more bark than bite, and all that.”

“Whispers,” Cole said, turning his regained hat in his hands.

Josephine deepened the frown; she'd seen enough bullheaded bravado to last a lifetime. “You should still see someone about it.”

“My someone slipped off in the great mysterious night, you'll recall, never to be found again.” Trevelyan shook his head. “Damned elf. I've a feeling he's somewhere getting himself into peremptory trouble. I just hope he has the sense to come to me for help if he needs it.”

Josephine drew her mouth into a thin line. That the apostate had given them such a thorough slip only to reveal that everything they knew about him was a lie—well. The last time she'd fully expressed herself on the topic she'd actually thrown a wine glass into her fireplace, like a frustrated hero in one of Varric's books. Foolish, and entirely embarrassing even without anyone else in the room, but thoroughly satisfying. “Yes. It is hard not to be angry at Solas.”

“Hm. It brings to mind a time I broke my mother's prized bow.” The Inquisitor drew a hand through his hair, wincing at the memory. “I blamed it on a cousin, because of course I did. I wasn't insane, after all. I also wasn't crafty—Mother found my lie out immediately. She told me that she wasn't mad with me, just disappointed.” He cracked a smile. “That's what I am. _Disappointed_ in Solas. May he feel the weight of my sentiment just as I felt the weight of my mother's.”

Josephine smiled. “The Inquisitor's disappointment did manage to change the fate of Orlais. Perhaps it will change Solas's heart and bring him home.”

“Forget,” Cole muttered, but, Josephine knew, Cole was one for nonsensical mutterings.

“Indeed.” Trevelyan shrugged. “If you do want to talk to someone who's angry, though, look no farther than Dorian. Solas ran off with Dorian's second favorite staff.”

“The true tragedy in all of this.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Trevelyan stretched to standing, once again running a hand through his hair. “Cole, want to come back later? We can have our hair cut together.”

Cole's eyes narrowed as he reached up to tug his shoulder-length hair. “Will it hurt?”

“Hah! Only our pride. Now please, Cole, I think I'll take a rest.”

Cole took a few more darting looks around the room before slipping to the stairs and through the door. Josephine sighed and picked up her writing board, fingers itching to write down a note about the Inquisitor's mark. Just one expert examination could potentially ease their hearts—but she let her writing hand drop to her side.

Trevelyan bent over the toppled stack of books, frowning as he lifted each one and read the spine. “Shit. He'll have my head for this.” He glanced up, peeking through the hair that fell into his eyes. “Don't start on this, Josephine. Please. Jokes are well and good but let's leave it at that.”

Josephine drew her mouth into a thin line.

“I know what you're going to say, Josephine; you've said it all before. Elven historians to provide context, magical experts to explain the phenomenon.” Trevelyan sighed, placing a book on the recovering stack. “It won't help, Josephine. It is what it is.”

“That is far from—”

Trevelyan stood and moved towards her, unaware of the reborn stack sliding back into confusion. He placed both hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Josie, please. It will only introduce more chaos, more for me to deal with. I give you my word that when I can no longer cope I will tell you. I will let you bring in every expert you can find.” He removed his left hand from her shoulder, turning the palm for her to see. “I can cope with a great deal, you see. Until my limit makes itself known I just want to marry the man I love, right as many problems in Thedas as I can, and take a nap.”

Josephine tsked, sounding a bit more like her mother than she cared to. She placed her own palm over the Inquisitor's; the skin was slightly over-warm and dry, with nothing overtly tactile to suggest the weight of the mark that glowed there. “Well. So long as I have your word.”

She drew herself up straight, taking her pen back into hand. “I suggest you get your few moments of rest, Inquisitor. I'll be sending the barber your way as soon as I cross him. I shall send Cole back with him.”

The Inquisitor groaned. “Do try to waylay Dorian if you can. If he's present for the haircut it will take the entire day.”

Josephine nodded in agreement as she took her leave; she'd already planned as much.

 


	4. One Step Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One more day to go. Is that confidence Josephine feels?

“It will be a disaster, you know.”

“I know many things are called disasters on the eve of grand success.”

There--Josephine could see it, the ever so slight quirk to the Not Quite Grand Enchanter’s lips. Josephine leaned forward, picked up the glass of chilled wine, and took a sip. Inside she was positively hooting. The joust--as she like to refer to conversations with Madame de Fer--had been going on for the better part of an hour. If Josephine had her way she would extend it an hour more. The sun fell just right across the garden, illuminating the chess table at which the two women sat, their early motions at the game having long gone unattended.

“No grand success has ever come without the guiding of a careful hand, my dear.”

“Of course not, Grand Enchanter. That is, in fact, why I am guiding each and every facet of its machination.”

“Oh?” Madame de Fer sent a frost up her wine glass, swirling the pale liquid with appreciation. “One can never truly control the culmination of one’s work.”

Josephine faltered in her repartee, imagining what impossible scheme Dorian might come up with next. Madame de Fer caught sight of Josephine’s frown and tutted.

“Just ask, my dear, and I shall assist in any way I can.” The mage tilted her head demurely. “Within reason, of course. I can no more move mountains than I can make Sera bathe and dress appropriately.”

“Well,” Josephine rejoined, working to regain herself, “that would have been the greatest aid, I must admit.”

“With our new Divine we can all extend ourselves only so far, lest we fall back into the ‘Old Ways.’”

Josephine chose to let that one meet silence; she had already spent the better part of a week worrying upon what would happen should Leliana and Vivienne meet anew. So far--praise Andraste herself--it had not happened.

“I have, however,” Madame de Fer continued, smoothly gliding away from Josephine’s silence, “had the distinct pleasure of meeting one Madame Pavus--or Lady Thalrassian, as she introduced herself. A charming woman, to be sure.”

“Undeniably. Such impeccable bloodlines can only result in the highest forms of grace.”

“Truly.”

Josephine took another sip of her wine. Over the last four days Dorian’s incorrigible mother had come up with a list of reasons as to why her son could not be wed, determined to bring each one to Josephine’s doorstep. Just that morning Madame Pavus--or Thalrassian, or whatever Maker-forgotten name she had decided to prefer that day--had spent no less than two hours explaining to Josephine the many reasons why the wedding had to be cancelled on account of a single statue in the main hall. Josephine had tried to calm the matter by having the statue removed, but Dorian had dug in heel-first, all the more so when he learned the true reason behind the statue’s attempted removal.

“I find that I am interested in spending some time with her--an hour or two here or there, you understand, as both of our schedules allow. She is so very keen on her son’s nuptials, but I told the poor darling that she must first look after herself. In this climate, most of all. It is murder on the skin.”

Josephine blinked at the woman before her, once again losing her finer composure. Madame de Fer tilted her chin slightly upwards--a true smile, Josephine had come to learn.

“It is, my dear, the least I can do for someone in need.”

Josephine wondered at the propriety of leaping across the table to hug the woman; instead she settled on the quick idea of sending her a recent acquisition of the Inquisition: a rather astute study of the third First Enchanter, done up in the classic form of dress Madame de Fer happened to admire. “Well, we mustn’t let the poor woman falter. She is, after all, our guest.”

“And we must never leave a guest for wanting.” Madame de Fer tilted her glass; Josephine gently tapped it with her own.

Josephine was still a little tilted on her feet an hour later as she stood in Skyhold’s tavern in front of the biggest Qunari she had ever seen. She focused her attention on the tips of his horns to still herself from swaying.

The Qunari rolled his shoulder and drained what Josephine was sure to be his fifth tankard of ale, sober as he still seemed to be. “Let me get this straight. You want me and my guys to just wander among a town's worth of people—all of which hate some other culture in attendance for one reason or another—and 'keep an eye out for trouble?'”

Josephine heard a bump and snapped her eyes to the tavern's stairs. “Yes, that is exactly what I want.”

The Iron Bull laughed. “Well, Ambassador, I can solve your mystery here and now. There’s definitely going to be trouble. There's going to be buckets of trouble—as in actual buckets, likely used to clean blood off the floor. A Vint is getting married; if a few random people don't accidentally die in the celebrations it's going to be considered a flop.”

“No one is going to die.”

“Suit yourself.” The Iron Bull waved over two tankards of ale, stalwartly keeping both after Josephine turned down the offer.

“I’m not implying that protection will be your sole responsibility, Bull. Cullen is providing troops to properly guard the event and Divine Victoria is ensuring that there is surveillance to protect against undesirables infiltrating the greater secrets of the keep. I just want you and your Chargers to keep eyes on the couple. Make sure no one tries to knock Dorian out and drag him back to Tevinter; see to it that no one assassinates the Inquisitor. Be our extra pair of—er—eyes.”

“But, the thing is--” Bull sighed and re-crossed his feet. “I just thought that it would be a good time to unwind. You know. Finally.”

Josephine bit down on her usual lecture--the one where she explained that Corypheus had only been the beginning, that every left over problem presented the Inquisition with a true test of leadership and capability. Bull knew all of that as well as she did--and besides, he was one of the few of them that had stayed with the Inquisitor long after the end of Corypheus, immobile even when the most loyal were called back to the steady march of life’s progression.

Josephine again heard the bump against the ceiling and turned to openly stare above her. She narrowed her eyes; she was sure she could see a flash of red darting away from a peephole in the floorboards above. “You can unwind as much as you want. Just remain aware.”

“Fine, fine, I'll do what I can. I still can't see what additional good the small group of us will do, but if it will make you feel better I will tell my guys to keep their eyes peeled.”

“Thank you, Bull.”

Bull stood up. “This is almost worse than the fact that I have to give a speech at the banquet.”

“Surely it is not—wait.” Josephine brought her eyes back to the Qunari. “You're giving a speech?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Varric is making one too, and that Maevaris woman. Sera was going to but—” Bull glanced up. “She, ah, was too lewd.”

“Was not!”

Josephine's eyes snapped to the ceiling again; there was definitely an eye staring down through a hole in the ceiling-boards. The eye giggled. “Hi there, fancy thing!”

Josephine felt the blood rising to her face. “You behave yourself, Sera, or I swear that—”

“Yes, yes, pestilence and pain and—WHAM—lots of stabbing, stabbing all night long if you know what I mean, warding the grayness out of our _back-_ walls and all that.”

“What? I never—what are you even—no, get down here and speak to me properly!”

“No! You're too scary!”

Bull chuckled. “You can see why they turned down her speech.”

Sera banged on her floorboards. “It was a proper speech is what it was, about harmony and love and squishy shit like that—I said that love is like trees in a forest or something, yeah? If two trees grow together it must be destiny, right. Kind of like something in the wood itself would draw the two trees together and get them all tangled up.” Sera giggled. “Do you get it? Wood—and _wood_? Like—never mind, you're too poncy to get it.”

“I am not too poncy! And what does poncy even mean?”

Sera giggled again; from the sound against the floor boards she was settling into a stretch. “Tell her your speech, Bull. Get ready for this, poofy-sleeves. It's a real weeper.”

Bull scratched his head. “Ah, it's shit. I can't think of anything good. Krem told me to just pretend I was trying to say something encouraging to the guys...Here's what I came up with.” Bull stood straighter, cracking his back and neck. “You work best as a team. Rely on each other’s strengths and guard each other’s weaknesses. Don't fuck it up. You pull this off and drinks are on me.”

Josephine heard what could only be Sera clapping. “I think it's perfect. Dorian will laugh until he pukes.”

Bull smiled up at the ceiling. “I hope so.”

“Inquisipants will probably cry.”

“Hah! If the boss cries, we'll have to make sure he never forgets it. Every time he gets big in his head—”

“Hey, Herald! Remember when you blubbered like a squealing snot in front of all them people?”

“And everyone went quiet and stared?”

“And Bull had to carry your weepin' arse down the stairs and out of sight?”

“Can't take you anywhere, boss.”

“Proper embarrassin'.”

Josephine shook her head at the odd exchange before her. “No one is going to vomit or cry.”

Bull snorted. “If boss cries it's Sera's problem. She's his standard bearer, after all.”

“I'll be too busy trying to keep that egg-sucking thing upright! It's bigger'n me by half! Make Cassandra do it. She can hold her standard and mine while she frowns her tears back into their squishy houses.”

Josephine frowned. “Cassandra? There's a second standard bearer?”

The Bull nodded. “Yeah. Four, actually. Dorian saw that Cole had arrived and was so delighted by some hat or something that he decided Cole needed to be in the middle of the fray. Dug up some old Tevinter standard and had a few seamstresses add in his family seal. Dunno who the fourth bearer is.”

“What?”

Sera once again slapped her floor. “Moony-eyed-creepy-bones is going to be holding a standard. Do you have ruffles in your ears?”

Josephine shook her head. “The ceremony is in one day—when was this decided? There's no room on the platform! Where will they fit?”

Bull shrugged. “Damn if I know, Josephine. I just nod and agree. Seems to work best in situations like this.”

“This is impossible. I don't know how I can feasibly make—”

“Josephine.” Bull placed a giant hand on her shoulder. “It's going to be a great success. You've done an excellent job. All of us want nothing more than for the boss and Dorian to have a lovely day and a great fucking party. That's exactly what will happen. Anyone who tries to mess it up will get an axe in the face, alright?”

“Or an arrow in the eye! This place is _full_ of my friends right now!”

Josephine groaned.

“Go get some rest, Josephine. You're doing fine.”

Josephine took a deep breath, drew back her shoulders, and tried a reassuring smile. “Thanks, Bull. I’m plenty rested, I assure you.”

Strangely, Josephine was still smiling as she moved across the grounds, eyeing the quick yet smooth work of all those around her. She let the smile take on a deeper feel—she was pulling it off. Standard bearers aside—she could commission a larger platform, surely—she had actually planned a wonderful wedding.

She was a damn genius.

                              


	5. Two Steps Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She'd thought about this possibility often enough—had even joked about it with Leliana time and again. It was a hilarious joke, simply because it would never come to pass.

Josephine's eyes skipped over the courtyard, keeping in time with her racing heart; the day itself had arrived. Seats were in place in the lower courtyard, well positioned to see the platform constructed at the upper courtyard's edge. The infirmary tents had finally been moved, the patients relocated indoors. More seats lined appropriate ramparts, or at least the ones Cullen had been willing to relinquish for the duration. The standards were at hand, carefully curled around their poles and kept clean. A few servants and helpers scurried to and fro, corralling errant guests and chasing loose ends. Josephine turned to look towards the main keep; Divine Victoria was well prepared, and eager.

The food was in order, the wine approved by both the grooms' mothers. All of the musicians had shown up, much to Josephine's surprise, though each entourage had been so bold as to bring more members than originally listed. More people to move around; Josephine frowned. That would be the hardest part of the day. Moving hundreds of people back and forth was no easy feat when one had space to work with. This would likely require some sort of divine intervention.

“Ah, there you are, my lady.”

Josephine turned towards the voice, her stomach flipping over itself. “Karine.” She could draw no graceful words to mind. “What is it now?”

“Lord Dorian wants to see you.”

“Of course he does.”

Karine inclined her head. “He is in his room.”

Josephine sighed and turned towards the heart of the keep.

“No, my lady. His old room.”

Interesting. Josephine turned and moved towards the wing of rooms that held her own. What could he have found wrong? The wine was a bit young, perhaps, as was the cheese. The chairs were nowhere near as splendid as they could have been, and the weather! Maker take this weather, and the cold breeze blowing in from outside the keep.

Josephine lifted her skirts and carefully climbed the stairs. Dear, sweet Andraste—why had she not put carpet on the stairs? Skyhold was mostly stairs, after all; what if someone slipped and fell? There were Orlesians here, stepping about on shoes that were nothing more than lovely slips of liability.

She stood in front of Dorian's door and knocked, steeling herself with deep, even breaths. She could handle whatever last minute task he put before her. She was Josephine Montilyet, Ambassador to the Inquisition and Arbiter of House Montilyet. She would make this work.

“Come in.”

Josephine opened the door. The room was dim, the sunlight through the window providing the only light. The walls were bare of all decoration, though the Inquisitor's old desk was shoved into a corner opposite a rather modest bed. Josephine raised an eyebrow at the solution to the mystery of the library's rejected books; they lingered in a corner in a haphazard, yet oddly respectful pile. She raised a second eyebrow at the sight of no less than three crates of Orlesian red stacked upon the bed. Another mystery solved as well, then.

Dorian stood by the window, leaning against the frame and looking below. He was resplendent as only Dorian could be, dressed in somber black—though, Josephine supposed, there was nothing truly somber about it. Clasps glittered in shining gold, dazzling the eye even more than usual. His arm slipped to his side, allowing the fall of a cloak with exquisite embroidery. It held a bed of white flowers so realistic that Josephine could nearly catch the scent. She took a step closer and was surprised to see lines of black twisting through the expanse, only to solidify into the form of a snake striking towards her, nearly hidden within the flower bed.

Dorian turned, cocking his head with a smirk. “Oh, this is rich. Did our Herald put you up to it?”

Josephine blinked in confusion.

“Hah! Your dress, Ambassador.”

Josephine looked down at her dress—she had been quite proud of it. The fall of the skirt allowed for quick movement while still complementing her figure; the neckline buttoned charmingly to the neck, the buttons lining their way through simple yet dramatic stitching. Gold thread traced through dark red fabric—red. She was wearing red. Maker, how had she let that slip? “I—I didn't even think of it. It's a shade that complements me well and I didn't have the time to—”

Dorian's smirk turned into a smile. “I jest. You look simply exquisite.” He turned back to the window. “And you won't be standing up there with me, drawing eyes away from the most handsome groom with your colorful display.”

Josephine heaved a sigh of relief, only to clear her throat to cover the gesture. “You sent for me?”

“How many people are there, Lady Ambassador?”

“Currently in attendance?” Josephine turned through the pages on her board. “There are five hundred and thirty-three currently on the grounds. Six hundred and forty-one are expected for the ceremony and banquet with the total coming to nine hundred and three for the ball afterward.”

“I see.”

“I hope you are not too disappointed. It is customary for attendance to come in much lower than expected, what with distance, ability, and the quality of the roads themselves.”

“I understand.”

Josephine tapped her board, eyes scanning the room for more contraband. “If there isn't anything else—”

“I need you to secure passage to Tevinter, for a few weeks hence. Discretely, if you will. I thought I would have the time to hunt for a ship myself, but alas, here I am, busy as the dawn or some such saying.”

Josephine blinked in quick succession. “Oh? And how, pray tell, do you propose we smooth over the Inquisitor's departure to Tevinter? I am truly interested to hear your plan.”

Dorian crossed his arms and leaned on one leg in the way which, Josephine had long since learned, was the herald of a particularly stubborn conversation. “I haven't the slightest idea. Fortunately, we shouldn't have to; he won't be accompanying me.”

“Oh?”

“I'm not daft, Josephine. I long ago told our Herald that Tevinter was no place for him.” Dorian sighed and brushed a mote of dust from his shoulder. “It is a, well, point of contention, I'll just say.”

Somewhere outside there was a clatter and a flurry of sharp words; it sounded faintly like the cacophony of a falling stack of chairs. The rather mundane worry circled blissfully in her mind, protecting her like an old friend. “I’m missing something, Dorian.”

“I’m sorry. I hope you find it.” Dorian’s smile, Josephine noticed, lacked its certain quirk; Josephine felt herself teetering on the edge of panic.

 “So, you are visiting Tevinter alone?”

“No.” Dorian turned his back to her, seemingly focusing his full attention on whatever was outside the window. “I am _returning_ to Tevinter alone.”

“I see. And the Inquisitor?”

“Is a frustrating man who will likely take the news poorly. Let’s not mention it to him quite yet.”

Josephine’s heart, she was startled to notice, had fled somewhere to the dark safety of her stomach. “And when do we mention it?”

“Oh, I don't know.” Dorian traced a finger along the window-frame. “Ideally when I'm half gone and the shouting can be done only through letters.”

“I see.” Josephine looked away for a brief moment; she could actually feel a sting in her eyes, pairing up with the congested simmer of sudden anger in her chest. “So, this wedding changes nothing? You’ll still run out on him at the first opportunity?”

It was a cruel thing to say—something Dorian himself would say, perhaps, or even the Inquisitor at his most vexed. It had the desired effect, Josephine noted with no small amount of shame; Dorian's posture fell completely, resting on something tragic before snapping to enraged as he turned on her.

“You don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Don’t I?” Maker, she was close to crying. She squeezed the sides of her writing board as hard as she could and resisted the urge to throw it to the ground. “Why even bother with this show? Why run us through this if you're just going to—”

“Going to what, to live a life for myself? To move away from the Inquisition now that it has completed what it set out to do? To keep to a plan that I made clear from the first day I joined this mess?” Dorian pushed himself from the window and walked past her to his bed. “I don't see why any of this is actually surprising.”

“That is what I am asking! If you were just going to go back, why even—”

“The whole idea behind being married, behind being _properly_ married, not paired off by your parents or by an unexpected babe in a belly or by who fucking knows what—” Dorian crossed his arms and looked towards the door. “It was not some lark, Ambassador, some frivolity that I would do for attention or fame. It was supposed to _mean_ something. It was supposed to be another way for me to prove just how serious I am about all of this, regardless of where I am. Regardless of what others may think.”

Josephine shook her head once more, some of her angry panic giving in to a brush of regret. “I do not truly—well. I am sorry, Dorian. I do not truly think you to be so frivolous.”

Dorian snorted. “Yes, you do.”

“Well, perhaps. But not about the Inquisitor.”

“No, never about him.” Dorian reached a hand out towards the fireplace and brought forth a flame to lighten the room. “I assure you that I have thought all of this through.”

Josephine took a few deep breaths as he ran his hand over one of the crates of Orlesian red, the gold clasps encircling his arms twinkling in the new light. He took a deep breath of his own and sat himself next to the crates, his eyes darting up and away from her own.

“Josephine, I can't do it. I can’t go through with this.”

Josephine nearly dropped her board. Instead she clung to it, pressing the end into her stomach. She'd thought about this possibility often enough—had even joked about it with Leliana time and again. It was a hilarious joke, simply because it would never come to pass.

“Dorian. Please. You do not mean that.”

Dorian looked up to her. He gave a slight shrug, all the usual irony gone from his face. “I can't do it. He’s going to--shit, Josephine, you’ve seen the mark. How it flares and pains him, even after everything is supposed to be over. I thought that I could do something; I thought that Solas and I, maybe--” Dorian looked to the fire. “I don't know what I was thinking, tying myself to this sinking ship, thinking that bold sentiment alone would be enough to save us.” Dorian’s voice slipped enough that Josephine barely heard him. “It was foolish.”

Josephine swallowed. Damn that Karine—why had she not sent for the Inquisitor? For Varric? Even Cole would have handled the situation better, seeking out the pain and smoothing it to something less. “I understand that you are afraid--we all are. The best you can do is--the thing of it--” Josephine took a deep breath to better calm herself. “What did the Inquisitor say? About your fear?”

Dorian snorted, twisting a ring on his pinky. “Nothing yet. I haven't told him.”

“I see.” Josephine peeked out of the window towards the sun. Perhaps there was time for her to run and get Trevelyan, to drag him over and let him fix this mess.

“No, you don't see.” Dorian stood and moved towards the desk, sliding aside the papers atop it to sit on its surface. “I've spent my entire life—no.” He glanced back towards the window. “There is no need to explain. I cannot take part in this ceremony; I cannot bind myself to him in marriage. That is all you need to know. Please do what you must, given this situation.”

Josephine felt her voice go shrill, but there was no pulling it back in. “Dorian, I feel as though there is _a great need to explain_. I feel like explaining is the _one thing you need to do_.” She fought to lower her voice, to pull the dignitary she was back into the room. “We are all terrified of what will happen to the Inquisitor. None of us understands what is going on--Inquisitor Trevelyan least of all. But that doesn’t mean we can falter. Fear alone cannot be enough for you to run away.” She lowered her voice even more and pressed her fingers into the writing board. “Dorian, please. I know we are not great friends, but as two people who share love and respect for someone who--” Josephine shook her head and tried again. “Just talk to me, Dorian. Let me help you, I beg you. You don’t need to throw it all away now. And yes,” she said at a quirk of his eyebrow, “I am aware how invested I am in this event. This has been my sole focus for the past month--of course I am invested. I will not deny that. But you cannot deny that you haven’t given yourself the leisure to think this current course of action through.”

“I’ve thought about it thoroughly enough,” Dorian snapped. His gaze returned to the window. “I am sorry. I simply cannot partake. The reasons are my own. I urge you to respect this, as enraging as it must be.”

She felt a faint sting at the back of her eyes—was she to cry like a girl kept home from a ball? “Is there nothing I can say to change your mind? Please, Dorian. You must consider what you are doing. You must see how--how--” She was going to say irrational; he raised and dropped his shoulders as though she had.

“I am sorry, Lady Josephine.”

She stood in place, turning her eyes to the lazy run of wax down her candle. A hollow opened within her stomach, flattening out to settle at its base. A hum began somewhere in the back of her skull, and she felt the distinct need to leave the room. “I see. Do you wish me to tell the Inquisitor?”

Dorian's shoulders drooped, causing the cloak to fold around him. “No. I owe him an explanation in my own words, at the very least.”

Josephine pressed her teeth into her tongue, lest she voice words best left unuttered. “Fine.”

“There is one thing.” He looked up at her, though he did not catch her eye. “The ship that my parents are taking back to Tevinter. Can you book me passage on any ship home but that one?”

“I'll get it done, Enchanter.” She turned to the door, fingers shaking as she reached for the handle. It moved beneath her hand, though not through her effort; for a moment her heart leapt. It would be Trevelyan, come to talk sense into the man he loved.

But it wasn't. It was a stranger, looking resplendent in pale blue silk adorned with silver. Josephine looked away with a frown, not even bothering to appreciate the woman's gown. She only barely managed a quick curtsy. “Pardon me. I have work I must do.”

The woman pardoned herself, entered the room, and closed the door behind her, effectively cutting off Josephine's escape. “Ambassador Montilyet? Please do stay--I’m afraid we haven’t had a proper introduction.” The woman gave the sort of curtsey Josephine had been trying to perfect for years. “Maevaris Tilani.”

Josephine--for all the rudeness it entailed--found she had to avert her eyes even as she curtseyed in return, lest they start overflowing. “I am honored, Magister. I do fear, however, that I must go; I have an emergency to which I must attend.”

 “An emergency? If this is about the broken chairs, I am happy to tell you that I have taken care of it. Chairs are an easy fix.”

“Let her leave, Mae. I have something I must speak with you about.”

Josephine glanced up just enough to see Magister Tilani cock her head and peer at each of them in turn. “I see. Well, I suppose there is the matter of finalizing the seats at the banquet. Madame Pavus was less than pleased that I will be seated next to her and her husband--do please make sure this doesn’t change, despite her squawking. I fully intend to have a dramatically fraught meal.”

Josephine jerked her writing board so quickly that the candle went out. “Madame Pavus will be pleased to know that her seating placement has indeed changed--along with that of everyone else. The banquet is cancelled, Magister Tilani.”

Magister Tilani looked to her countryman. “Dorian, is this some scheme of yours?”

“Scheme or no, what she says is true. Let her out, Mae. I must speak with you.”

The woman narrowed her eyes at Dorian, moving forward in such a way as to make Josephine take a step aside. “Stop being so dramatic, Dorian. Look at you. You’re a mess.”

Magister Tilani descended upon him, straightening his clothing and frowning at his hair. Once satisfied she slipped her arm though his, pulled him to his feet, and peered into his face. “And what is this of there not being a banquet? You cannot force people out to a random snowy peak only to let them starve. I admit that I _do_ want to see more than half of my compatriots standing outside of the gate, cold and alone in this dreadful snow, but we cannot act on every whim that takes us.”

Dorian crossed his arms and patted Magister Tilani’s hand. “Well, Mae my dear, there is to be no ceremony--and a wedding banquet without a wedding ceremony is ghastly indeed. You will be shocked to know that I’ve gotten cold feet and called the whole thing off. As you will undoubtedly return home before I do, I ask that you do your best to fan and drench the resulting rumors appropriately.”

Magister Tilani glanced at Josephine as though the Ambassador might add something. Josephine had no will to add anything; she wanted to let this display proceed as quickly as possible so she could slip out and shape the failed wedding into an impromptu feast. Damn Dorian and damn the whole Pavus line. She'd let the guests have their food, drink, and dance just to spite everyone.

The magister sighed, using her free hand to pat a curl of her blonde hair. “And for what reason did you have this sudden change of heart?” She quirked her lips into a smile that made Dorian’s usual smirk seem mild.  “Are you suddenly so interested in your parents’ happiness?”

Dorian sighed and leaned into the magister, seemingly unaware of the motion. “It's the…complication of it all. Before, I was caught up in the possibility of it all--everything seemed surmountable. Now I don't even—” Dorian shook his head and stood up straight. “I made a mistake, Mae, nothing more. People may be hurt,” he said, glancing at Josephine, “but the fact of the matter is that I have to stop being a besotted brat and start thinking about the work I was meant to do. I need to get back Tevinter and start putting forth an effort. I’ve done in the south what I’ve needed to do, and now it’s time to go. I don’t need some hang-nail romance guiding me astray.”

“Nonsense.”

Josephine and Dorian both stared at Magister Tilani in surprise. She straightened her sleeve where it crossed Dorian’s, frowning prettily. “You’re terrified. I understand full why--the rumors about your Inquisitor’s mark fly about with all the pertinence of an upset hornets’ nest. That the mark is consuming him, taking over his mind, killing him--”

“Stop.” Dorian brushed himself free of the magister’s arm and took a step towards the door; Josephine--in a fit of panicked anticipation--stood in front of the door with straight shoulders.

“It is alright to be afraid,” Magister Tilani said, gifting Josephine with a look of gratitude, “but it is not alright to deny yourself. You know this, Dorian. You’re no fool.”

Dorian fixed Josephine with a withering look before returning to his seat on the bed. “I do not need a lecture, Mae.”

“Yes, you do.” The magister stepped in front of Dorian, carefully gathered her skirts, and crouched down to look the young man in the eye. “They die, Dorian, one way or another.”

Dorian turned his head away. “ _Stop it._ ”

“No. Look at me.” The magister took Dorian’s chin and turned his eyes back towards her. “Mark or no, they die. Before you, after you, at the same time. There is no such thing as a guarantee, and no amount of love can keep a person living.”

Dorian tried to turn his head once more, gasping in a breath. “That’s just it. Thorold was healthy and hale, yet he--”

“Yet my Thorold died on me nonetheless. And there is nothing to make that hurt less--nothing in all of Thedas, nothing in all the passage of time. But would you think me happier for never having known him?”

Dorian glanced up at Josephine, but for all her intrusion on the moment she found she could not leave. He sighed and looked back to the magister. “Of course not.”

“And would I be happier for not having pledged my love and life to him when I did?”

Dorian shook his head. “It is different, Mae. Maker preserve me--it’s _different_ , and I’m sorry for thinking so. Thorold was an incredible man, I know. His death was sudden and shocking. I have no doubt of the pain it caused you--I fucking _remember_ what it did to you, Mae. I would never underestimate that. But this? I--” Dorian’s voice quaked. “I have to _watch._ Every moment, every day. He’s dying in front of me, Mae.”

The magister nodded, releasing Dorian’s chin to gently place her hand on his cheek. “And you cannot stop the death, so you’ll at least stop the watching.”

“I don’t know what I was thinking. I was foolish--to think that I could have a moment--an actual _lifetime_ \--of happiness. How vilely and repugnantly _stupid_ of me.” Dorian pushed the magister’s hand away and covered his face with his own. “I need to go back. I need to fix the things I can fix--I need to manifest change I can manage. I need to stop fucking _waiting_.”

Magister Tilani stood up. “Here, Dorian. Go stand by the window. The cool air will help.”

Dorian rose, turning to keep his face away from Josephine. Magister Tilani stepped back to the door as the enchanter went to the window and leaned against it.

Josephine found her voice, hushed as it was. “I must--”

Magister Tilani reached over and patted Josephine on the arm. “Just wait a moment.”  She moved towards Dorian, light blue gown sending up static sparks in her wake.

The magister placed a hand on Dorian’s back.  “Do you love the Inquisitor?”

“Mae, stop—”

“Dorian Pavus, do you love Inquisitor Trevelyan?”

Dorian tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling. “Have you not tortured me enough?”

“I am waiting for an answer, Dorian.”

“You know well the feelings I have for him. I do not see the point you are trying to get at.”

Magister Tilani folded her arms. “Do you love him?”

“Maker, take all magisters and seal them away.” Dorian folded his arms and looked towards the door; his eyes were red but there was a bit more of himself in his voice. “Yes, damn you. Now get on with your point.”

“Do you intend to spend your life with him at your side?”

“Josephine, please, throw your candle at her head. It won't hurt her—she manifests lightning and other such nonsense.”

Josephine stared at Dorian, her heart pounding. She could see it now, a palpable shift in the room. Her mind dared to allow the ceremony a tentative breath. “No, you should answer her. I think I see where she is going.”

“Maker, betrayed on both sides. Yes, alright, he is dear to me and I had planned to be near him as often as possible, even to an obscene extent, long after his looks have faded and people wonder why such a beautiful mage remains with a haggard old man. Outstanding, you've made a point, I've feelings for the man I agreed to marry. You truly are impressive, Mae. You should join the investigatory guard.”

The magister moved and took her friend's arm once more, despite his protest. “A love-marriage is not something easily afforded those of our stature. You've done the work to earn it. You've burned bridges and irreparably sundered useful possibilities. I know this all because I did the same. It’s gloriously selfish, and I support it whole-heartedly.” Dorian began to speak, only to fall silent at the magister’s raised hand. “I understand that you want to come back to Tevinter--and yes, you will need to, sooner than expected. I need your help; alone we are just loud, troublesome voices, but together we can effect actual change and watch more than a few of our enemies burn.” Magister Tilani turned and smiled at Josephine. “Metaphorically, of course.”

The magister drew Dorian in front of the fire, once again fussing over his outfit.  “But, if you leave this way it will mark you. You will not be returning home triumphant, ready to face the enemies that have been plotting to kill you since the day you were born. You will be returning home beaten, frightened, cowed. You will fail in everything you do thence forth, should you choose to do it the coward’s way.”

“But I’m--”

“ _Venhedis_ , but I am tired of men interrupting me. Quiet down before I treat you like the boors I work with every day.” The magister winked at Josephine, who felt her lips quirk into a smile.

The magister stopped her fussing and looked Dorian in the eyes. “You are not a coward, Dorian. You never have been. You are a man of solutions, and given life or death you will find one for everything that plagues you. Stand before your fears with your head high. Say your vows with your words, lest wistful regret say them for you. You are the last heir to House Pavus; an era of bigotry and deceit will fall under your intervention. Make bards roar of our glory for centuries to come. Stand firm now, that you may stand firm when faced with true adversity.”

Josephine stared, even aware of the rudeness of the action. Her blood was on fire; her fingers tingled with the need for sudden activity. She felt herself standing taller, her shoulders confidently thrown back.

Dorian flicked his eyes her way. “Don't be too moved, my Lady Ambassador. Mae has a grand way with words.” He looked back to the magister. “But that doesn’t always mean that she is right.”

The magister took on a rather petulant expression. “Andraste’s ass, Dorian. Stop being such a snotty horror and marry the man you love before my stomach curls from hunger and my skin dries in this endless cold.” She turned her attention to her own appearance as she brushed a piece of ash from her sleeve. “Besides, we both know that if you walk out now you’ll regret it forever, become a pining mess, and ruin all of my future parties with your incessant brooding.”

Dorian raised both eyebrows. “I do not _pine_ , Mae.”

“My dear,” the magister said, drawing herself up even more than Josephine thought possible, “you invented the act. I have never seen someone so successfully pine over nothing as you do.” Magister Tilani turned to Josephine. “Have you ever seen a seven-year-old pine? It is surprisingly dismal.”

“Such slander, Mae!”

The magister gave an exaggerated shudder. “I can only imagine what would happen were you to actually have someone to pine for.”

Dorian sighed and stared into the fire; Josephine opened her mouth but the magister quickly shook her head, motioning for silence. Dorian muttered something terse and biting; Josephine could not catch the words, though she thought they sounded Tevene.

The magister closed her eyes and drew in a sharp breath, hand once more going to Dorian’s back. “I know, my friend. I know. But at least it is finally our turn to shape things.”

Josephine stood at the door, writing-board shaking. The light slanted through the window; it would be pulling into late morning, if the slanting of light through this window was anything like the slanting of light through her own. The light glinted off of Dorian’s gold and Magister Tilani’s silver, illuminating a brilliant tableau of silence and grace. The moment, it seemed, marked something beautiful, something terribly delicate yet forcefully resilient. A feeling deep within Josephine suggested that she would remember this moment even in the darkest days to come--a shining beacon when needed most.

Dorian took a deep breath. “Shit,” he said, and the magister’s shoulders relaxed, sliding back as a smile grew on her face. Dorian turned, saw the smile, and frowned. “Don’t you dare start, Mae. I’ll change my mind all over again, back and forth until you all quit me.”

He looked to Josephine. “Well, I don't understand why you are still standing here. You still have work to do--the wedding won’t run itself. This event better be above and beyond my very expectations, or I’ll storm back up here and stay in this room until you all die of old age.”

Josephine all but fled the room, forgetting protocol. She flew down the stairs quicker than a lady of any stature had a right to, but she could only smile at those gaping at her in shock. Her heart felt so light that she was surprised she had to touch the steps at all.

The bells began to ring, calling all to be seated.

 


End file.
